


Names

by enthusio



Series: Coming of Age & Related Stories [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Extremely Underage, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Underage Sex, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22936666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusio/pseuds/enthusio
Summary: Two sons, one family, two very different ways of approaching the same tradition.(Set roughly around chapters 7 through 18 of Coming of Age, but with no real plot overlap.)
Relationships: Regulus Black/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Coming of Age & Related Stories [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1279283
Kudos: 17





	Names

**Author's Note:**

> A look at Regulus' coming of age that distracted me from the main fic until I gave in and wrote it. Warning: this is not happy. It is not close to happy. The Blacks are not a nice family to be in, even if you're not Sirius.
> 
> For anyone coming here away from the main Coming of Age fic: when I say 'extremely underage', I do mean it. Regulus is eleven. Mature for his age and it's only referenced once or twice, but still eleven. Close the tab now if that's going to be a problem for you.

The problem, Regulus discovered, was that muggles were far too much like witches. They had eyes that teared up when they were in pain, bodies that flinched when they were frightened, and voices that pleaded with you not to hurt them. Most importantly, they had names.

It wouldn’t be until later that Regulus learnt not all wizards asked their muggles what their names were. Perhaps that had been his first mistake. He asked Maura for her name almost as soon as he woke to the feeling of her gagging on his cock. It seemed odd to not know it. He knew Kreacher’s name and all Kreacher did was pick up after him. Maura would take his cock inside her, let him experience something other than his hand so that his magic had something to settle itself with as it grew. That felt rather more important than putting away his books.

You couldn’t just pump into a _Maura_ the way you would a muggle though. Couldn’t pretend her trembling was arousal rather than fear. Maura was a girl, an impossibly tiny girl with dark hair and grey eyes that almost made him wonder if there was a Black squib out in the world somewhere. Regulus hadn’t been able to treat her as anything less.

It wasn’t a problem, at first. Maura was his muggle to do as he liked with. As long as he’d fucked her enough to properly anchor his magic before he started Hogwarts, no one was particularly bothered. Regulus was the good son, after all. There were no concerns about _him_ becoming unnaturally attached. He was simply practising, as any intelligent pureblood would. If he could make a _muggle_ fall in love with him, surely he could have any witch he wanted.

And Maura had fallen in love with him. It had been surprisingly easy, all he’d had to do was treat her the way he would a witch. He’d sent Kreacher to fetch her a few pretty dresses, arranged for her to have her own room, and told her she was welcome to do as she liked as long as she remained in his suite. By the end of the first month she’d been comfortable enough to sit with him when he took meals in his rooms. By the end of the third he was able to coax her into gentle kisses, kisses that became more heated when he carefully pulled her to straddle his lap somewhere around the fourth.

It was during the fifth month when Regulus first tasted Maura’s cunt. Delicate and soft, with inner folds that felt like velvet under his tongue, he quickly found himself becoming addicted. He spent hours with his face buried between her silky thighs, losing himself in wonders the training books had only ever hinted at. More than once he woke her with his tongue only to feast on her until she collapsed from blissful exhaustion.

That was how he had her the first time, not quite six months after his birthday. She was soaked from the combination of his mouth and her own arousal when he rubbed himself against her. Sleepy and all but incoherent as she titled her hips against his with a whimper. It had been an accident when he’d first slipped in, one he quickly tried to correct for fear of losing all of her carefully built trust.

Maura had smiled. A sweet, surprisingly innocent smile that did not at all match with the way she pulled him closer. She’d kissed him as she urged him deeper inside her, swallowing his groan with a happy sigh of her own.

Regulus had discovered a new kind of wonder then. A wonder that had far less to do with how tightly Maura’s cunt wrapped around him than he ever could have imagined. He had barely been able to bring himself to move that first time, unwilling to risk anything that might destroy the soft way she looked at him as he did his best to gather himself.

That, of course, had been his downfall. If he’d only remembered that she was a _muggle_ , a simple toy for him to use and abandon, everything might have been fine. He’d have still been kind, there was no way for him to be anything else once he’d learnt her name, but he wouldn’t have forgotten himself so thoroughly. Even Sirius hadn’t been _attached_ to his muggles. He’d used them and thrown them away, as all proper purebloods did.

Of course, Sirius had always been better able to take things as his right. He was the heir, after all. Regulus was the one who could never bring himself to shout at Kreacher or sneer at his tutors. Not when they were who praised his efforts in his lessons and looked after him when he was ill. If he’d been a little less weak, a little more like an heir instead of the throwaway second son, he never would have asked Maura’s name to begin with.

As it was, he found himself far more surprised — and far more upset — than he should have been when she was taken away the week before he left for Hogwarts. He’d known she was leaving, of course. There was no reason to keep a muggle pet around when he would only be home a few weeks a year. He’d only thought he’d have been allowed to say goodbye first. Not woken in the middle of the night to find her being dragged away by Father, her eyes wide and frightened as she tried to scream from behind the hand clamped over her mouth.

Regulus hadn’t fallen back asleep that night. He couldn’t. Not when he was sure he could hear Maura screaming his name from somewhere inside the house.

He couldn’t, of course. That was ridiculous. Grimmauld Place was far too large and well charmed for him to have heard her unless she was still in his suite. Which she wasn’t. He had checked.

He’d not said a word about Maura at breakfast, Father’s appraising looks far too telling for him to consider it. Maura should never have been in his bed when he wasn’t using her. She was a pet. Pets weren’t allowed in proper beds. That Regulus hadn’t thought of it as anything other than comforting revealed more than he was willing to consider. So he’d not said anything. Had been the polite, obedient son everyone expected of him, then asked permission to visit Parkinson to see his new racing broom. If he suggested that the Parkinson heiress was growing into quite the lovely young witch it was only because it was true.

It had taken long minutes for him to change into the more formal robes expected of him when attempting to impress an heiress. Longer still for him to sedately walk out the door and turn in the direction of the Parkinson home. He had to turn the corner before he could be sure no one was watching, had to double back around through muggle gardens and alleyways to get to the hidden lane not far from Grimmauld Place where Kreacher threw the rubbish.

Maura was there, as he’d desperately hoped she wouldn’t be. He forced himself to swallow back the bile that rose in his throat when he saw the state she was in. Forced himself to carefully clean the cuts and friction burns and vanish the pool of blood between her legs, all the while murmuring as soothingly as he could manage.

It wasn’t until she was cleaned of blood and grime and things he tried not to name even in his own mind that he noticed the bruising around her middle. Wasn’t until she was cradled in his arms that he realised how little he could truly do for her. He was a strong wizard. A capable one, even more than most purebloods his age. He knew a bit of healing magic, more than a bit of combat magic, and was likely to excel at Hogwarts with little effort. His tutors had been more than successful in that regard, ensuring that Regulus was well prepared to assist Sirius in any way needed.

But he wasn’t a Healer. Even if he was, the barely there fluttering of Maura’s pulse suggested she needed more than just a few spells. He pulled her a bit closer. If only he’d never asked her name. Then he might not be here, surrounded by rubbish as he tried to block out Maura’s whimpers enough to think of how to get her to a muggle Healer.

There wasn’t a way, of course. He hadn’t the first idea how to find a muggle hospital. Certainly not quickly enough to take her, ensure she would be safe, and get to the Parkinsons’ with enough time for a polite visit in case anyone asked. Possibly not quickly enough to take her at all, even if he could find a way to get to Brockloch and Great-Grandfather Macmillan when it became apparent that he’d chosen to save a muggle.

Regulus forced himself to take a breath. Forced himself to remember his lessons and gather his magic. He nuzzled against Maura, doing his best to return the weak smile she gave him before gently pressing his lips to her forehead. There was little he could do for her and less he could do for himself, but he could give them this. A quiet moment and a barely whispered spell so that Maura looked peaceful rather than pained when she went limp in his hold.

There was a dress in amongst the rubbish, torn and dirtied but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a spell or two. Maura was properly covered when he left her in front of a church on the way to the Parkinsons.

Nothing was said when Regulus returned from the visit. Why would anything be? His robes were immaculate, as always. He’d made a good enough impression that there was talk of a possible arranged courtship with the Parkinson heiress when she came of age. And if he was perhaps a bit more withdrawn than usual, well, that was normal for a young wizard anxious about going off to Hogwarts.

Regulus was a good son. A proper son. The kind of son Mother and Father wished Sirius would be. He was polite, respectful, obedient, and always behaved exactly as was expected of him. The only exception was when he returned home from first year without a mudblood on his arm. Mudbloods, it turned out, had names too.


End file.
